Authors: Sierra Cartwright
Unbound Surrender (2 page)
Seeing her there, knees spread to shoulder-width, the way he liked, he questioned his sanity.
She might still be dressed in a skirt and a silk blouse, but he remembered what lay beneath. He was desperate to have his hands on her.
She looked up at him, and when he raised a brow, she quickly cast her gaze down. “Good girl.”
Slowly, without his coaching, she bent her head.
“You remember a few things.”
“A few.”
So did he; more than he wanted to remember. Like the way she smelled after a bath, of lavender and vanilla, the way she tasted, of femininity and surrender. “Remove your blouse.”
Her head still lowered, she unfastened the last couple of buttons. She parted the shirt then shrugged, allowing the silk to pool on the tiled floor.
“Now your brassiere.”
He noticed that her fingers shook slightly as she released the hook and eye, then drew the straps over her shoulder and dropped the scrap of red lace on the floor. Blood rushed to his cock at the sight of her breasts, tipped by erect brown nipples. “Pinch them.”
“Yes,” she whispered.
At first, she touched her nipples gently, making them harder, more alluring. He wondered if her actions were calculated to torture him. Then she squeezed each of her nipples between a thumb and forefinger before tugging. Finally she pinched them tightly. She leaned back, like she did when facing exquisite pain. And she moaned.
Christ. His cock was throbbing. “Harder!”
She froze for a second, but she didn’t break position. He watched her torment those beautiful little nipples. “I said harder, Jessica.”
She gulped.
He imagined when she planned this little visit that she thought they’d have a polite conversation about her proposal, perhaps picturing them sitting politely in the Queen Anne chairs in front of the fireplace while Mrs. Boxley brought in a pot of tea, all very civilised. Had she forgotten how uncivilised he could be? He had ideas for the Queen Anne chairs, all right, but they included punishment and her being bent over. “Shall I show you what I mean?”
He saw her sink her teeth into her bottom lip. She’d often complained his grip was worse than her most vicious clover clamps. She closed her eyes and ardently squeezed tighter on her nipples.
She gave a gentle moan that made his cock even harder.
He couldn’t wait any longer. He needed to touch her.
Moving in closer, he said, “Offer me your breasts.”
“I…”
She opened her eyes and looked up at him.
He waited, wondering if she’d protest or at least dally.
With only a moment’s hesitation, she released her grip on her nipples and cupped her breasts, pushing them up slightly, drawing them closer together.
He liked seeing her vulnerable like this. When she’d walked out two years ago he never imagined she’d come back, never conceived of the possibility she’d actually be on her knees in front of him after begging him to push her boundaries. “Ask me to squeeze your nipples.”
She swallowed deeply.
“Please… Please squeeze my nipples…”
They both waited then. He heard the tick of the clock in the parlour. At one time, she’d called him Stephen. Then she’d called him Sir. After he’d collared her, she’d called him Master.
Her leather collar hung from the tie rack in his closet, thrown away like their marriage vows.
She met his eyes, even though he preferred she keep her gaze downcast during a scene. Confusion swam in the depth of her golden eyes; wordlessly she asked him to guide her. This time, he refused. He wanted to see where she would go, how much intimacy she wanted. “Squeeze my nipples…” he prompted.
“Squeeze my nipples, Sir. Please.”
Sir
. That worked for him. For now.
When he took that final step that brought him only inches from her, she lowered her gaze. “Perfect.” He took each of her nipples and gently rolled them between his thumbs and forefingers.
She moaned slightly then apologised breathlessly.
“No apologies,” he said. “I don’t care if everyone in the household hears your moans and screams.” He exerted a tiny bit more pressure.
“I…”
“You’re not thinking of climaxing, are you?”
“I’m getting wet,” she confessed. “Sir.”
That she was still so responsive ripped away his next breath. That had always been something he loved about her, the way she got so damp so quick, the way she orgasmed. It made it fun to punish her, draw out the climaxes until she squirmed. Once she’d even stamped her foot in frustration. “What happens to a sub who comes without permission?”
“It’s a very long time until she’s allowed another one.”
“Good girl.” He twisted her nipple then pinched and squeezed with deliberate, painful intent.
“Sir! Sir, sir, sir!” She gasped. She threw her body forward, trying to lean into the pain. She released her breasts, reaching for his wrists like she had earlier.
“Compose yourself.” He was relentless. “Back into position.” He saw what it cost her to steady her breaths as he continued to compress her nipples.
“It hurts!”
“Does it?”
She fought her way back into position, struggling to cup her breasts. At least he was some help there since he was tugging so hard on her nipples they were nearly next to each other.
He noticed the exact moment she regained control of her body’s reactions. Her breaths were still shallow, but she intentionally drew each breath. She forced her knees apart, and she leaned back slightly, even though it meant her nipples were more distended.
By degrees, he eased up on the pressure. When she totally surrendered, he released his grip and took a step back. God, he loved the sight of her, so responsive and beautiful, blonde hair, longer than it had been, cascading over her trembling shoulders.
He was undone.
He crouched in front of her. She still held her breasts for him. Although her head was tipped forward, he saw she was blinking rapidly, unsure of his next move. Gently he sucked one of her nipples into his mouth and laved away the hurt with his tongue. She moaned, a sound he recognised as pure pleasure. After soothing the tip of her other breast, he slowly stood. “If you wish to stay, strip. I will be in the parlour.” Then he said, “Look at me.” As she complied, he took the time to purposefully unfasten his belt and draw it from its loops.
Her gaze was fastened on his motions, not on his face, just as he’d intended.
“If you join me,” he said, “you’ll experience my punishment.”
“You said… You aren’t into revenge.”
“Revenge, no. Punishment that you richly deserve, absolutely. There’s a difference, and you know it.” He waited until she looked at his face. “If you choose to leave, you know where the door is. Your choice, Jessica.”
Chapter Two
He hadn’t called her Jess. He hadn’t called her sub.
He’d offered her an out that he was probably betting she would take. Clearly he didn’t trust her determination.
Her mouth dry, she watched him double over the belt. Without another word, he turned and walked away.
She remained on her knees and struggled with her emotions. This afternoon, on the train to his country home, she’d never expected him to order her to stay. She hadn’t been prepared for the possibility they’d be in a scene within minutes of her stepping foot inside his home. And she’d believed two years was long enough to break the staggering mental hold he had over her.
Seeing him enter the foyer ten minutes ago had taken her back to the first time she’d met him at a charity function. Her date had introduced them and Stephen had charmed her, even gallantly kissing the back of her hand. There had been an undeniable darkening in his stunning blue eyes as he’d looked at her, smiled at her. She’d splurged on the gown, and it was more risqué than what she’d normally wear, slit up the side and only one strap across her left shoulder. His smile of appreciation had made the extravagance worthwhile.
Later that night, he’d presented a large cheque to the charity, and it was only then that she’d learned who he was. Stephen Duvall was the reclusive owner of one of the most exclusive private security firms anywhere.
The next morning she’d received a royal summons. In less than twelve hours, he’d learned more about her than her parents knew, including the fact she’d once visited a London BDSM club.
They’d had a few dates before he brought up BDSM. But after he mentioned it and saw her reaction, he’d had her naked and bound in less than ten minutes.
She’d dated a lot since their divorce, tearing through men, trying on relationships, looking for something she’d turned her back on. She’d learned no one was like Stephen. And, more painfully, that the only person standing between her and happiness was herself.
So, was she going to seize the moment?
She thought of him, of the belt, the look of deadly intent in his eyes. Her nipples throbbed. For a couple of minutes, when the pain had rocked through her body and she didn’t know what to do with it, she’d thought that maybe she’d made a huge mistake in arriving unannounced at his country home, but as she’d breathed, as she’d stopped fighting and started to surrender, remembering what she ultimately wanted, things had gotten easier. And then, then she’d felt carnal desire. Her knickers were damp with her desire. Her body was always more honest than she was.
By turning his back on her, he’d given her an out. She’d walked through that door once and she knew what lay on the other side and it sure as hell wasn’t sunshine and rainbows.
Her ex-husband might not be into revenge, she believed him when he said that, but he had always been a strict disciplinarian. If she followed him into the parlour, she would be punished, but it would be without anger. That final realisation was the only thing that gave her courage. He never held back like she did, but he never allowed his emotion to rule his treatment of her.
She slowly broke position and stood, stretched from the uncomfortable position and rubbed her knees. She slipped off her heels and shimmied out of her skirt. She’d gotten past being self-conscious with him years ago. She might have a few hang-ups about the extra weight she carried, but he didn’t, and he had little tolerance for any stalling that came from her wishing she was hotter.
She tugged off the thong that matched her bra and left everything in an untidy heap in the foyer. She’d taken a few steps down the hallway of his grand, historic home, a place she’d once lived, before she froze.
He would fully expect her to crawl to him.
Her cheeks burning with embarrassment, hoping Mrs. Boxley wasn’t somewhere spying on her, Jessica got on all fours. She crawled down the hall, and she paused at the entrance. He’d left his belt, still folded in half, just inside the doorway.
She glanced up. He was standing next to the fireplace. As was his custom, the day’s newspaper had been deposited in a bin near the hearth, ready to be used in the fire. Funny how she’d remember a habit like that.
He offered no encouragement or instructions. He didn’t need to. She knew what he expected.
With her mouth, she picked up the belt. She used her lips, not her teeth.
Aware of her every motion and the lewdness of her position, she continued across the polished hardwood floor, stopping in front of him. She held onto the belt until he reached down to take it from her mouth.
“Well done.”
Even the small approval was enough to keep her resolved, no matter what came next.
He moved one of the chairs back from the fireplace. He was still fully dressed, which made her nudity all the more keen. He had power and control over her, like he’d always had.
“I want you facing the chair, bent over, your hands on the arms.”
Which meant he didn’t intend to restrain her. She had an odd relationship with bondage. She hated the restriction and intuitively struggled against it, but she also found it oddly liberating. When she was tied, she could surrender totally, knowing she had no other option.
She deliberately shut off the part of herself that drew a parallel between bondage and her own internal struggle with her ability to be emotionally vulnerable.
Taking her time, she crawled to the chair and then positioned herself.
Her heart thundered.
It had been so long since any man had taken such control with her, stood over her implacably, demanding and expecting her capitulation. She was frightened. She was aroused.
She drew a steadying breath, but it was as shaky as her pulse.
Without being instructed, she spread her legs farther. She knew the position left her defenceless. She was wide open to the chastisement of his leather belt. She knew it would hurt, maybe even scorch her pussy, but on some level, she craved its caress.
She heard him moving, felt his nearness.
